It was 1:00 a.m. Sunday morning. Court Meade might be working the listening post.
He called. No one answered. Some THP man was ditching his shift.
Kemper urged him to avoid the post Kemper might not consider one last visit too risky.
Littell drove over and let himself in. The bug transmitter was unplugged, the room was freshly cleaned and tidied up. A note taped to the main console box explained why.
Memo:
Celano’s Tailor Shop is undergoing fumigation 5/17–5/20/59. All on-premises shifts will be suspended during that time.
Littell cracked his bottle. A few drinks revitalized him and sent his thoughts scattergunning out in a million directions.
Some brain wires crackled and crossed.
Sal needed money. Court Meade was talking up a dice-game heist Mr. Hoover said to let the matter rest.
Littell checked the bug transcript logs. He found a colloquy on the job, filed by SA Russ Davis last month.
4/18/59. 2200 hrs. Alone at tailor shop: Rocco Malvaso & Dewey “The Duck” Di Pasquale. What sounded like drinking toasts was obscured by jackhammer and general construction noise outside on Michigan Ave. Two minutes passed while both men apparently used the bathroom. Then this conversation occurred.
Malvaso: Te salud, Duck.
Di Pasquale: Quack, quack. The nice thing is, you know, they can’t report it.
Malvaso: The Kenilworth cops would shit. That is the squarejohn town to end all squarejohn towns. The last time two handsome big dick guys like us took down eighty grand in a crap game there was the twelfth of fucking never.
Di Pasquale: Quack, quack. I say they’re independent guys who had it coming. I say if you’re not mobbed-up with Momo you’re duck shit. Hey, we wore masks and disguised our voices. To boot, those Indy cocksuckers don’t know we’re connected. I felt like Super Duck. I’m thinking I should get a Super Duck costume and wear it the next time I take my kids to Disneyland.
Malvaso: Quack, fucking quack, you web-footed cocksucker. You had to shoot your gun off, though. Like no fucking getaway is fucking complete without some duck-billed cocksucker shooting off his gun.
(Note: the Kemlworth Police report unexplained shots fired on the 2600 block of Westmoreland Ave., 2340 hrs., 4/16/59).
Di Pasquale: Hey, quack, quack. It worked. We’ve got it stashed nice and safe and
Malvaso: And too fucking public for my taste.
Di Pasquale: Quack, quack. Sixty days ain’t too long to wait for the split Donald’s been waiting fucking twenty years to bang Daisy, ‘cause Walt Disney won’t let him. Hey, remember last year? Jewboy Lenny did my birthday party? He did that routine where Daisy’s sucking Donald off with her beak, what a fucking roar.
Malvaso: Quack, quack, you cocksucker.
(Note: construction noise obscured the rest of this conversation. Door slam sounds at 2310 hrs.)
Littell checked the THP ID file. Malvaso and Di Pasquale lived in Evanston.
He played the 4/18/59 tape and compared it to the typed transcript. Russ Davis forgot to include departing shtick.
The Duck hummed “Chattanooga Choo Choo.”
Malvaso sang, “I got the key to your heart.”
o o o
“Too public,” “key” and “choo choo.” Two suburban-situated robbers waiting sixty days for their split.
There were forty-odd suburban train stations linked to Chicago.
With forty-odd waiting rooms lined with storage lockers.
The lockers were rented by the month. For cash only, with no records kept, with no-name receipts issued.
Two robbers. Two separate key locks per locker door.
The locks were changed every ninety days–per Illinois TA law.
Thousands of lockers. Unmarked keys. Sixty days until the split–with thirty-three already elapsed.
The lockers were steel-plated. The waiting rooms were guarded 24 hours.
Littell spent two full days thinking it through. It came down to this:
He could tail them. But when they picked up the money, he’d be helpless.
He could only tail them one at a time. It came down to this: pre-existing bad odds doubled against him.
He decided to try anyway. He decided to pad his Red Squad reports and tail the men on alternate days for one week.
Day one: He tails Rocco Malvaso from 8:00 a.m. to midnight. Rocco drives to his numbers dens, his union shops and his girlfriend’s place in Glencoe.